Regarding unlikable Millenial narrators, I couldn't get through the TV show Girls. As a white woman born in 1983, I'm a little too young to "not get it" but I guess I'm too old to connect with it. I find the exploration of the lives of all education, no substance youngsters to be boring at best. There's a portion of a generation filled with people like that, but like you said: who cares? Go live some life then get back to me.
I had been thinking of buying "Trick Mirror" and then read Oyler's review in the LRB... oy. I had to go on Facebook to get a friend to reassure me that Tolentino was actually worth reading, because the review made the book sound like more than I could handle. But that was Oyler's pretentiousness more than Tolentino's.
When I did read "Trick Mirror" my reaction was more or less the same as to Freddie's "Women Do Not Need Lunatic Overconfidence". It seemed to me that Tolentino was trying to put her finger on a serious problem, of which her essays themselves were nevertheless an example. Partly because of the internet and partly because of our growing ability to think abstractly about society and our place in it, people nowadays--women especially, and young people especially--are so consumed by pathological self-consciousness that they can't think or do anything "straight". And it's poisoning our lives.
Tolentino's essay on her barre classes (I don't even know exactly what those are) illustrates this very well. She asks herself whether the social expectation for women to stay in shape reinforces a constricting norm of femininity. Then she reminds herself that being able to afford the classes is a form of privilege many women don't share. Then she observes, very shrewdly, that the burden of self-consciousness has a gender bias: men nowadays can guilt-trip themselves in all sorts of ways, but women do it too and then have to ask "Does doing X make me a bad feminist?" on top.
The entire collection of essays feels as if it's groping towards a solution to the problem of excess self-awareness, but the paradox is that *reading and writing essays like Tolentino's* is itself a manifestation of the problem. People didn't use to think about these issues as much as we do now, and in some ways they were better off.
It's funny. I didn't read either book, but when you described the barre class internal dialogue/conflict, I immediately thought, "Yup. I could see myself going through that exact same mental loop." And it depends on what you mean by a solution to a "problem of excess awareness." Sometimes writing is not about finding a solution. Maybe the point was just to lay bare the ridiculous state of paralysis people can find themselves in due to that self-awareness. And the author would probably agree ruefully that her book is a "manifestation of the problem," but that doesn't make it less valuable if it's a reflection of truth. (BTW a barre class is derived from a ballet bar: it's an exercise class devoted to toning using that bar.)
Regarding Freddie's review of "Fake Accounts," it seems like part of his frustration is that it's trite, obvious and over-done: "But Oyler’s protagonist, whether she intends this or not, resembles nothing more than an irony-laden, stale-joke-telling, politically incomprehensible narcissist like everyone you follow on social media. I can get that for free." You get the feeling he is bored half the time and wants to see more depth. But maybe, again, Oyler is laying bare a particular malaise in contemporary millennial women that may be obvious to Freddie, but not obvious to everyone. Maybe some young woman reads this novel and is struck with a realization that she is that protagonist, and that it is not making her very happy? Maybe the banality is the point?
I'll just leave with one more thought. If the criticism is just that Oyler's book was trite, boring and could have had more depth - fine. And I think that was the case. I don't detect a visceral response, more of a "you could've done better" frustration. I bring this up b/c there's a difference between criticizing a book and absolutely loathing it. When I hate a book, sometimes I find that valuable. It tells me something about me, my vulnerabilities. I had that reaction to "The Elegance of the Hedgehog" years ago. If something touches a nerve, you have to ask yourself why. So, Freddie, did this book just disappoint you or did it touch a nerve?
I think Freddie's being a little unfair when he suggests that "the Millennial experience" isn't worth writing about. I think what's not worth writing about is *the part of our lives we spend online*. We all do too much of that already and when we pick up a novel the last thing we want is more of the same. We bought the novel to get away from that!
Younger people are more deeply online, I guess, but he's not really pointing to a generational issue.
I see a lot of Millennial/Gen Z depression and anxiety that I don't see in the other generations, or it manifests differently at least. It's more of an excessive paranoia and concern for what others are doing/thinking, etc. I think social media can be really toxic for people's mental health and I don't think it's as obvious as you think. It may be valuable to have novels/essays that bring that to light.
It's a paradox, isn't it? Reading a novel about characters who are very online and miserable because of it might help to raise awareness of the problem, but the *cure* for the problem might be doing other things, such as reading novels that aren't about people like that.
These self-analytic personal essays have (a) the unstated premise that well-educated and well-cultured people in big cities in the 21st century are living the best lives of anyone who has ever lived because of their access to unprecedented technology, culture, and moral and factual knowledge; and (b) the stated premise that in spite of all their advantages and good fortune they are still miserable. Because premise (a) is never seriously challenged, the heat on premise (b) just gets turned higher and higher, more and more questioning of why they are not happy in their particular circumstances of time and place and habit, rather than placing themselves in a universal story about the tragicomedy of human existence. Asking "is too much self-awareness healthy?" is both paradoxical but also frightening because it opens up the larger question of "could I be happier living a fundamentally different life than the one my peers and I take for granted?"
I think we're going to see how accurate it is in the next few years. I expect big cities will continue to see a large exodus as working remotely becomes the white-collar norm, and the social power of "well-educated" and "well-cultured" will probably weaken along with it.
I'm generally not a big fan of broadly applying revealed preference theory, but part of the reason people believe (a) is probably because they're kind of required to. Once they don't have to portray themselves as well-educated and well-cultured and don't have to live in big cities anymore, how many will stick with them just out of assumed joy? We left NYC after our first child was born. I lived there for 20 years and assumed I'd never leave. Now that I'm in the suburbs, all I can think of is that I'd like to move deeper into the country. Opportunity begets enlightened self-reflection.
This essay could use an editor too, it reads like an early draft. First Oyler is portrayed as untalented, then in the second part of the piece she is suddenly an example of "genuinely talented" author who wrote a "tantalizing" book. The review of Oyler's review of Trick Mirror is the heart of the problem. It's a huge distraction dropped right in the middle of the piece -- it presents Oyler as an essentially worthless writer and makes the piece seem like it's just going to be another internet hit job. It fatally pulls the reader away from the two themes the author seems to care most about, how new young women authors are processed in contemporary literary culture, and how we protect ourselves from the toxic combination or loneliness and narcissism created by internet culture (or something -- the discussion at the end is the most interesting part of the piece and would have been a great center for the review, but is incompletely developed).
No she isn't; that sentiment literally does not appear in the piece you're writing about
"The review of Oyler's review of Trick Mirror is the heart of the problem. It's a huge distraction dropped right in the middle of the piece"
It is, in fact, key to understand the distance between the writer Oyler is and the writer she thinks she is
"it presents Oyler as an essentially worthless writer "
Again, no it doesn't, and I have no idea where you're getting that
"makes the piece seem like it's just going to be another internet hit job"
I don't care what it seems like, I care what it is
"It fatally pulls the reader away from the two themes the author seems to care most about"
I wrote about what I care about. Are these what you care about? That's fine; we have different interests, nothing wrong with that. I followed my interests and if this feels like a flaw in the review I understand that perspective
"the discussion at the end is the most interesting part of the piece and would have been a great center for the review, but is incompletely developed"
Perhaps. I do not like pat conclusions; I would rather leave the reader in a place where they can pull the threads themselves if they would like, particularly when I'm reaching for a grand cultural statement like I am here. That always seems more generative and meaningful for me. You may not like that approach, but it is my style as a reviewer. Different strokes.
I'll just say that I'm more intrigued by that idea than the rest of the essay. Can a good version of this book even exist or is this subject matter inherently tedious?
You may not be seeing all the formats in which your subheadings are publishing. They vary by communications medium. In some contexts the subheadings are overly emphasized and stripped of other content. Publishing systems are not designed for subhead gags. As a result, I am not sure the fun goofs like "maybe I am just dumb" land particularly well.
I'm glad you ended with Didion. When I finished Fake Accounts, I was trying to put my finger on why I found the novel's solipsism so unbearable while I so enjoy Didion, who is often accused of solipsism. Where I landed is that Didion uses her experiences and observations as an entry point to a world that feels very large, full of possibility, every detail and supporting character with its own story and meaning. The world of Fake Accounts is unbearably small, no thing or person having any meaning beyond what the narrator tells you in two paragraphs of musing. I've never had a book make me feel claustrophobic before.
I concede that it's an idiosyncratic reading. To me what's below the surface is that the narrator is provoking this ugly encounter with her friend as a way to stave off disapproval or pain she sees as inevitable, but I may be seeing something that's not there.
I think you're recognizing an important distinction, though. For a child growing up in the 1960s self-exposure was a thing that happened by accident, and even Harriet's decision to keep a diary in the first place wasn't something she analyzed to death. Millennials are too self-conscious for that kind of life to be possible.
I loved this. First, dear God, that review of JT is incomprehensible. I tried to read the whole thing, but it was so hard to follow that I just quit.
Amazing review of the novel as well. I hate that the internet has taught writers our age--especially women--to be ironic and self-deprecating all the time. The whole "Look at me, I suck but I'm super self-aware which makes it cool." is everywhere.
I do it all the time (on Twitter, mainly) -- partly because it comes so easily after years of reading it everywhere, and also because it's a way to cope with insecurity that gets you a bunch of "likes." It's hard to be "clever" without falling back on this habit. But I'd like to work on it.
Anyway, I'd be up for more book reviews (fiction, non-fiction, whatever). This was great.
Regarding the quote about "Harriet the Spy", I think Oyler completely missed the point. The lesson she drew from the book is a very narrow, literal-minded one. Harriet got in trouble for writing down exactly what she thought and then mistakenly leaving the notebook where someone else could read it, so Oyler thinks the lesson is, don't write down your real thoughts, or at least, don't leave them where anyone else could read them. That's a very shallow reading. The real point of "Harriet the Spy" is not to be a self-absorbed twit with no empathy for, or real understanding of, other people. The problem is not simply that she wrote down her real thoughts, but that her real thoughts were uncharitable, frequently nasty, and displayed a rather childish (if understandable for her age) obsession with her own cleverness. Given what Freddie says about "Fake Accounts" and the Tolento review, it sounds like the real lesson of "Harriet the Spy" is one that Oyler would benefit from learning, but she seems not to suspect its existence.
I haven't heard of anyone either except Didion and Helen Dewitt, but I'm not on social media very much. Helen Dewitt's "Lightning Rods" was so unique and wonderful. I guess you'd call it a satire but when I think of satire I usually think of someone like Tom Wolfe. It's not my favorite genre b/c it tends to be coldly mocking and ironic, kind of skewering characters like they're dissected animals. But "Lightning Rods" was hilarious. Not wry-smile, soft-chuckle funny. Laugh-out-loud funny. A book that does that is a rare gift IMO. Couldn't get through "The Last Samurai" though. Maybe I'll try it again. I second Carina's request for more book reviews.
I like Tolentino and Oyler and I'll usually read what they write for the same reason I read deBoer: there's a chance they're going to say something really insightful that I haven't heard before. But the criticisms here are totally on point. Trick Mirror felt paint-by-numbers, the essay-collection equivalent of a Hollywood genre movie made by committees and focus groups. And Oyler's essay had me wandering in darkness between moments of real clarity.
Hard to avoid with essays, but both seem too inside their own heads. I'd like to see more millennial writers take what is happening inside their head and transform it into art that takes place in the real world with characters that aren't just them and their own social circle. Probably applies beyond just millennial writers too
I read Lockwood’s No One Is Talking About This right before I read Fake Accounts and it was an interesting pairing. I enjoyed both in their way but at age 50 I don’t feel generationally implicated by them. This review highlighted for me that there was more emotional depth in the Lockwood book, probably because the second half is dealing with the birth and short life of a child with a rare disorder. There is a point in Fake Accounts where the protagonist is also caring for a very young child but there is no suggestion that doing so makes her feel much of anything. I did end up researching who Lauren Oyler was and what she had written after I finished the novel and so I came upon the review of Trick Mirror as well as her takedown of Sally Rooney. Jia Tolentino leaves me cold but Sally Rooney writes sentences that exactly capture what it feels like to be a young woman. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this book. They made me think and they made me feel grateful to have spent my thirties raising children instead of being online and self aware. The best part of parenting for me was how it kept me from thinking so much about my own wants — that was fun for 29 years but it was getting old. I hope that my Gen Z children will not opt for the Millennial endless noncommitment because I would rather have a grandchild than a child with a lot of Twitter followers.
Regarding unlikable Millenial narrators, I couldn't get through the TV show Girls. As a white woman born in 1983, I'm a little too young to "not get it" but I guess I'm too old to connect with it. I find the exploration of the lives of all education, no substance youngsters to be boring at best. There's a portion of a generation filled with people like that, but like you said: who cares? Go live some life then get back to me.
I had been thinking of buying "Trick Mirror" and then read Oyler's review in the LRB... oy. I had to go on Facebook to get a friend to reassure me that Tolentino was actually worth reading, because the review made the book sound like more than I could handle. But that was Oyler's pretentiousness more than Tolentino's.
When I did read "Trick Mirror" my reaction was more or less the same as to Freddie's "Women Do Not Need Lunatic Overconfidence". It seemed to me that Tolentino was trying to put her finger on a serious problem, of which her essays themselves were nevertheless an example. Partly because of the internet and partly because of our growing ability to think abstractly about society and our place in it, people nowadays--women especially, and young people especially--are so consumed by pathological self-consciousness that they can't think or do anything "straight". And it's poisoning our lives.
Tolentino's essay on her barre classes (I don't even know exactly what those are) illustrates this very well. She asks herself whether the social expectation for women to stay in shape reinforces a constricting norm of femininity. Then she reminds herself that being able to afford the classes is a form of privilege many women don't share. Then she observes, very shrewdly, that the burden of self-consciousness has a gender bias: men nowadays can guilt-trip themselves in all sorts of ways, but women do it too and then have to ask "Does doing X make me a bad feminist?" on top.
The entire collection of essays feels as if it's groping towards a solution to the problem of excess self-awareness, but the paradox is that *reading and writing essays like Tolentino's* is itself a manifestation of the problem. People didn't use to think about these issues as much as we do now, and in some ways they were better off.
It's funny. I didn't read either book, but when you described the barre class internal dialogue/conflict, I immediately thought, "Yup. I could see myself going through that exact same mental loop." And it depends on what you mean by a solution to a "problem of excess awareness." Sometimes writing is not about finding a solution. Maybe the point was just to lay bare the ridiculous state of paralysis people can find themselves in due to that self-awareness. And the author would probably agree ruefully that her book is a "manifestation of the problem," but that doesn't make it less valuable if it's a reflection of truth. (BTW a barre class is derived from a ballet bar: it's an exercise class devoted to toning using that bar.)
Regarding Freddie's review of "Fake Accounts," it seems like part of his frustration is that it's trite, obvious and over-done: "But Oyler’s protagonist, whether she intends this or not, resembles nothing more than an irony-laden, stale-joke-telling, politically incomprehensible narcissist like everyone you follow on social media. I can get that for free." You get the feeling he is bored half the time and wants to see more depth. But maybe, again, Oyler is laying bare a particular malaise in contemporary millennial women that may be obvious to Freddie, but not obvious to everyone. Maybe some young woman reads this novel and is struck with a realization that she is that protagonist, and that it is not making her very happy? Maybe the banality is the point?
I'll just leave with one more thought. If the criticism is just that Oyler's book was trite, boring and could have had more depth - fine. And I think that was the case. I don't detect a visceral response, more of a "you could've done better" frustration. I bring this up b/c there's a difference between criticizing a book and absolutely loathing it. When I hate a book, sometimes I find that valuable. It tells me something about me, my vulnerabilities. I had that reaction to "The Elegance of the Hedgehog" years ago. If something touches a nerve, you have to ask yourself why. So, Freddie, did this book just disappoint you or did it touch a nerve?
I think Freddie's being a little unfair when he suggests that "the Millennial experience" isn't worth writing about. I think what's not worth writing about is *the part of our lives we spend online*. We all do too much of that already and when we pick up a novel the last thing we want is more of the same. We bought the novel to get away from that!
Younger people are more deeply online, I guess, but he's not really pointing to a generational issue.
I see a lot of Millennial/Gen Z depression and anxiety that I don't see in the other generations, or it manifests differently at least. It's more of an excessive paranoia and concern for what others are doing/thinking, etc. I think social media can be really toxic for people's mental health and I don't think it's as obvious as you think. It may be valuable to have novels/essays that bring that to light.
It's a paradox, isn't it? Reading a novel about characters who are very online and miserable because of it might help to raise awareness of the problem, but the *cure* for the problem might be doing other things, such as reading novels that aren't about people like that.
These self-analytic personal essays have (a) the unstated premise that well-educated and well-cultured people in big cities in the 21st century are living the best lives of anyone who has ever lived because of their access to unprecedented technology, culture, and moral and factual knowledge; and (b) the stated premise that in spite of all their advantages and good fortune they are still miserable. Because premise (a) is never seriously challenged, the heat on premise (b) just gets turned higher and higher, more and more questioning of why they are not happy in their particular circumstances of time and place and habit, rather than placing themselves in a universal story about the tragicomedy of human existence. Asking "is too much self-awareness healthy?" is both paradoxical but also frightening because it opens up the larger question of "could I be happier living a fundamentally different life than the one my peers and I take for granted?"
This is an insightful comment. Thank you.
I think we're going to see how accurate it is in the next few years. I expect big cities will continue to see a large exodus as working remotely becomes the white-collar norm, and the social power of "well-educated" and "well-cultured" will probably weaken along with it.
I'm generally not a big fan of broadly applying revealed preference theory, but part of the reason people believe (a) is probably because they're kind of required to. Once they don't have to portray themselves as well-educated and well-cultured and don't have to live in big cities anymore, how many will stick with them just out of assumed joy? We left NYC after our first child was born. I lived there for 20 years and assumed I'd never leave. Now that I'm in the suburbs, all I can think of is that I'd like to move deeper into the country. Opportunity begets enlightened self-reflection.
This essay could use an editor too, it reads like an early draft. First Oyler is portrayed as untalented, then in the second part of the piece she is suddenly an example of "genuinely talented" author who wrote a "tantalizing" book. The review of Oyler's review of Trick Mirror is the heart of the problem. It's a huge distraction dropped right in the middle of the piece -- it presents Oyler as an essentially worthless writer and makes the piece seem like it's just going to be another internet hit job. It fatally pulls the reader away from the two themes the author seems to care most about, how new young women authors are processed in contemporary literary culture, and how we protect ourselves from the toxic combination or loneliness and narcissism created by internet culture (or something -- the discussion at the end is the most interesting part of the piece and would have been a great center for the review, but is incompletely developed).
"First Oyler is portrayed as untalented"
No she isn't; that sentiment literally does not appear in the piece you're writing about
"The review of Oyler's review of Trick Mirror is the heart of the problem. It's a huge distraction dropped right in the middle of the piece"
It is, in fact, key to understand the distance between the writer Oyler is and the writer she thinks she is
"it presents Oyler as an essentially worthless writer "
Again, no it doesn't, and I have no idea where you're getting that
"makes the piece seem like it's just going to be another internet hit job"
I don't care what it seems like, I care what it is
"It fatally pulls the reader away from the two themes the author seems to care most about"
I wrote about what I care about. Are these what you care about? That's fine; we have different interests, nothing wrong with that. I followed my interests and if this feels like a flaw in the review I understand that perspective
"the discussion at the end is the most interesting part of the piece and would have been a great center for the review, but is incompletely developed"
Perhaps. I do not like pat conclusions; I would rather leave the reader in a place where they can pull the threads themselves if they would like, particularly when I'm reaching for a grand cultural statement like I am here. That always seems more generative and meaningful for me. You may not like that approach, but it is my style as a reviewer. Different strokes.
Did you misspell Mxyzptlk on purpose? (I too love Superman comics!)
'There's nothing in the Millennial experience worth writing about' is a bold statement but I don't think you develop it to its potential here.
I mean it's a joke, obviously. I don't take the subhead seriously in general.
I'll just say that I'm more intrigued by that idea than the rest of the essay. Can a good version of this book even exist or is this subject matter inherently tedious?
This seems like trying to have it both ways when you don't need to.
The subheads are perhaps more noticeable than you think and occasionally submarine your work.
Who said I thought they're not noticeable? If you read that and don't detect humor then I assure you the problem is with you and not me
You may not be seeing all the formats in which your subheadings are publishing. They vary by communications medium. In some contexts the subheadings are overly emphasized and stripped of other content. Publishing systems are not designed for subhead gags. As a result, I am not sure the fun goofs like "maybe I am just dumb" land particularly well.
I'm glad you ended with Didion. When I finished Fake Accounts, I was trying to put my finger on why I found the novel's solipsism so unbearable while I so enjoy Didion, who is often accused of solipsism. Where I landed is that Didion uses her experiences and observations as an entry point to a world that feels very large, full of possibility, every detail and supporting character with its own story and meaning. The world of Fake Accounts is unbearably small, no thing or person having any meaning beyond what the narrator tells you in two paragraphs of musing. I've never had a book make me feel claustrophobic before.
"Solipsism is bad in a writer" is not a rule I would ever endorse, but even if I did, Didion is the exception to every rule.
> Harriet’s mistake was a mistake; Oyler’s narrator’s is ultimately a self-defensive gesture
That seems like a bit of a stretch, unless you're counting self-aggrandising gestures as a kind of preemptive self-defense
I concede that it's an idiosyncratic reading. To me what's below the surface is that the narrator is provoking this ugly encounter with her friend as a way to stave off disapproval or pain she sees as inevitable, but I may be seeing something that's not there.
I think you're recognizing an important distinction, though. For a child growing up in the 1960s self-exposure was a thing that happened by accident, and even Harriet's decision to keep a diary in the first place wasn't something she analyzed to death. Millennials are too self-conscious for that kind of life to be possible.
I loved this. First, dear God, that review of JT is incomprehensible. I tried to read the whole thing, but it was so hard to follow that I just quit.
Amazing review of the novel as well. I hate that the internet has taught writers our age--especially women--to be ironic and self-deprecating all the time. The whole "Look at me, I suck but I'm super self-aware which makes it cool." is everywhere.
I do it all the time (on Twitter, mainly) -- partly because it comes so easily after years of reading it everywhere, and also because it's a way to cope with insecurity that gets you a bunch of "likes." It's hard to be "clever" without falling back on this habit. But I'd like to work on it.
Anyway, I'd be up for more book reviews (fiction, non-fiction, whatever). This was great.
Regarding the quote about "Harriet the Spy", I think Oyler completely missed the point. The lesson she drew from the book is a very narrow, literal-minded one. Harriet got in trouble for writing down exactly what she thought and then mistakenly leaving the notebook where someone else could read it, so Oyler thinks the lesson is, don't write down your real thoughts, or at least, don't leave them where anyone else could read them. That's a very shallow reading. The real point of "Harriet the Spy" is not to be a self-absorbed twit with no empathy for, or real understanding of, other people. The problem is not simply that she wrote down her real thoughts, but that her real thoughts were uncharitable, frequently nasty, and displayed a rather childish (if understandable for her age) obsession with her own cleverness. Given what Freddie says about "Fake Accounts" and the Tolento review, it sounds like the real lesson of "Harriet the Spy" is one that Oyler would benefit from learning, but she seems not to suspect its existence.
I never heard of anyone mentioned in this piece except Joan Didion.
I haven't heard of anyone either except Didion and Helen Dewitt, but I'm not on social media very much. Helen Dewitt's "Lightning Rods" was so unique and wonderful. I guess you'd call it a satire but when I think of satire I usually think of someone like Tom Wolfe. It's not my favorite genre b/c it tends to be coldly mocking and ironic, kind of skewering characters like they're dissected animals. But "Lightning Rods" was hilarious. Not wry-smile, soft-chuckle funny. Laugh-out-loud funny. A book that does that is a rare gift IMO. Couldn't get through "The Last Samurai" though. Maybe I'll try it again. I second Carina's request for more book reviews.
I like Tolentino and Oyler and I'll usually read what they write for the same reason I read deBoer: there's a chance they're going to say something really insightful that I haven't heard before. But the criticisms here are totally on point. Trick Mirror felt paint-by-numbers, the essay-collection equivalent of a Hollywood genre movie made by committees and focus groups. And Oyler's essay had me wandering in darkness between moments of real clarity.
Hard to avoid with essays, but both seem too inside their own heads. I'd like to see more millennial writers take what is happening inside their head and transform it into art that takes place in the real world with characters that aren't just them and their own social circle. Probably applies beyond just millennial writers too
I read Lockwood’s No One Is Talking About This right before I read Fake Accounts and it was an interesting pairing. I enjoyed both in their way but at age 50 I don’t feel generationally implicated by them. This review highlighted for me that there was more emotional depth in the Lockwood book, probably because the second half is dealing with the birth and short life of a child with a rare disorder. There is a point in Fake Accounts where the protagonist is also caring for a very young child but there is no suggestion that doing so makes her feel much of anything. I did end up researching who Lauren Oyler was and what she had written after I finished the novel and so I came upon the review of Trick Mirror as well as her takedown of Sally Rooney. Jia Tolentino leaves me cold but Sally Rooney writes sentences that exactly capture what it feels like to be a young woman. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this book. They made me think and they made me feel grateful to have spent my thirties raising children instead of being online and self aware. The best part of parenting for me was how it kept me from thinking so much about my own wants — that was fun for 29 years but it was getting old. I hope that my Gen Z children will not opt for the Millennial endless noncommitment because I would rather have a grandchild than a child with a lot of Twitter followers.
I truly laughed aloud.